The Adventures of Tremain & Christopher BoxSet

by Terry Marchion

  While the professor and Tremain talked, Christopher wandered over to the stones. Feeling along the face of one of them as he walked, he studied the hill in front of him.

  Trees grew almost straight up from the hillside, the roots growing right over the stones. It seemed no little wonder to him why this place was so hard to find. Everything was covered by roots, vines or some other vegetation. Besides, it was hot, humid and generally thick and unpleasant. He wiped the sweat from his forehead as he walked closer to the hill. A depression in the stone caught his eye. Was that a doorway covered there by some roots? Focused on the wall and not watching where he was walking, his foot caught on a root knob and he tripped forward. Giving a little yelp of surprise, he threw his hands forward, which passed through the roots in front of him to hit directly full-force on the stone behind. There came a scraping, grating sound.

  Surprised, he looked around to see that others had heard it too. Perlmutter lumbered over, followed by Tremain. Students looked up from their digging, saw the professor was investigating, then went back to their dig, brushes in hand. The professor, huffing and puffing as he clambered over the root that had tripped Christopher, gave him an appraising look as he caught his breath, hands on knees, bent in two.

  "You . . . whooooo . . . Found something?" He straightened up, still breathing hard. "What was that sound?"

  Christopher pointed to the wall.

  "I tripped and hit the stone under here." He pushed at the roots. "I think the rock moved."

  Perlmutter, making appraising noises in the back of his throat, probed the stones with one hand, while his other held a small flashlight. He played the beam across the rocks as he pushed and prodded. Reaching behind the roots, he pushed the stone and was rewarded with the same grating noise produced by accident by Christopher.

  "Ah!" He said and pushed as hard as he could. The stone inched a little further in, then caught. "I need some assistance here!" He yelled over his shoulder, right at Tremain, who had been standing directly behind him.

  "Ouch, Hollis, I'm right here." Shifting himself around the bulkier man, Tremain maneuvered himself to get some leverage so he could help push. Bracing his legs, he nodded to the professor, and they both pushed at the rock face.

  Slowly, Christopher could see the stone moving inward, dirt and pebbles falling around them, hissing as they fell, angry at being disturbed. The grinding stopped, and both men shone their flashlights into the cavity. As they did, the cool dry air from inside tickled their noses with its old, earthy smell.

  "I say, Christopher, it looks as if you've found something," Hollis muttered, stating the obvious.

  Tremain gave a low whistle.

  "This looks as if it may go quite a ways back." Tremain stepped back and looked up at the hill. "I think we'd better get a group together and explore."

  The professor pulled back, almost tripping over a root himself, and grabbed Tremain's arm for support.

  "Yes, I think that would be a good idea. Let's derive a plan of attack after lunch." Nodding, he gingerly made his way back to the table, pulled out a diagram, and made a few sketches, glancing every now and then at the hillside.

  Tremain, taking Christopher's arm, led him back as well.

  "And here I thought this was going to be a boring day," He whispered to his nephew, who giggled.

  Lunch was an array of cold meats, cheeses and breads, all which had been stowed in the portable refrigeration units in the galley. The group of students sat together, talking excitedly about their findings and speculating what the new find could contain. Tremain, Christopher and the professor sat apart from the students.

  The hired help, Tremain couldn't help but notice, had taken positions around the perimeter of the camp, as if guarding it. The professor, concentrating on his food, punctuated each bite with some speculation on what could be behind the rock face.

  Christopher, sitting opposite his uncle, spotted the crew from Tyndall parting to let someone through.

  A woman walked towards them, confident in her bearing, her eyes fixed on at the back of Tremain's head as she approached. She was dark skinned, with wide, almond shaped eyes and long, wavy hair that cascaded over her shoulders. Christopher was struck by her beauty. He wondered if hers was the voice he heard the night previous.

  She came up directly behind Tremain and stopped. Her eyes swept across the table. The Professor looked up and nearly spit out his mouthful of food.

  "Why, here's our benefactress herself!" He stood, wiped a hand over his pants and gestured for a seat. Tremain, mid-turn, froze when she spoke.

  "Hello Tremain." Christopher saw his uncle's eyes widen in shock, a range of emotions crossing his face. Surprise, joy, confusion and fear all in a heartbeat before he caught himself.

  "Aziza. Whatever are you doing here? It's been years." Her smile widened, but it did not reach her eyes.

  Perlmutter blustered.

  "Oh, you know each other?" He set his sandwich down, and clasped his hands together. "I had no idea! Tremain, why didn't you tell me?"

  Tremain turned to the professor, his eyes huge.

  "I had no idea she was your source of funding." All the students had quieted down and were watching.

  Aziza took a seat next to Tremain, her movements as graceful as a ballet dancer. Christopher noticed the way she looked at his uncle, as though she were a cat surveying a mouse.

  "Oh, Hollis, I much preferred to surprise my old friend." She gave a mirthless giggle. Tremain, recovered, relaxed into his seat.

  "Tyndall?"

  "My husband's name. It was his foundation. I took over when he passed away. I'm a widow."

  "Black?" Tremain shot back.

  She laughed.

  "Oh, no, he died peacefully in his sleep." She dismissed him lightly and turned her predatory gaze on Christopher. "And who is this handsome young man?" Christopher swallowed his bite of sandwich hard, but Tremain came to his rescue.

  "This is my nephew, Christopher," he said. "What brings you to fund archaeological expeditions?"

  Her gaze never leaving Christopher, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a shard of stone. On it was carved a burst of lines. The professor startled as she produced it.

  "The stolen artifact!" he blurted out.

  She waggled a finger at him.

  "Oh no, not stolen, Hollis, only borrowed." She turned to Tremain, her feline movements smooth and fluid. She was in complete control. "I always take an interest when I find something important." She fingered the edges of the shard. "And this is very important." She traced the pictograph lines with a well-manicured fingernail. "What do you make of this?"

  Tremain, his scowl growing larger with each word, glanced at the shard before answering.

  "It's a pictograph, obviously."

  She glared at him.

  "Clearly. What do you think it represents?"

  "That's what the good professor and his students are here to discover."

  She gave a growl of disapproval.

  "No speculation, Tremain? No guessing? I'm disappointed." She looked at the pictograph, her eyes sharp. "I believe this to show an explosion." She looked up at Tremain and the Professor in turn. "The Mayflower people created a weapon, and I mean to have it." To Christopher, the shocked look on Tremain's face said it all.

  "A weapon?" he spluttered, "What brings you to that conclusion?"

  "What else could this represent?" She replied. "It's so obvious."

  "It could be so many other things, Aziza. It could be a representation of a flower, a . . ." He was interrupted with her laughter.

  "Oh you haven't changed at all, have you? Always the naive idealist." She replaced the shard in her pocket and stood. "You'll help me locate it, won't you?" Tremain stood as well, his face tight.

  "If this is a weapon, and I'm not saying it is, why do you want it? Bad enough to steal an artifact? To injure a student?"

  She brushed that away with a wave of her hand.

  "You really don't know?"
she smiled at him, cat-like again. "I have my spies at Hawking. I've been keeping tabs on you. The pictograph was taken by one of my agents. The minute I saw it I knew what it represented." She raised her arm, pointing at Tremain. "With this, I will demand respect."

  "You won't have respect, you will have fear." He motioned to Christopher. "I will have no part in that, Aziza. Neither will my nephew. We'll be leaving now." Just as Christopher stood, Aziza motioned to the biggest, burliest one of her men. He sauntered over, looking fierce.

  "And bring what authorities you can? I don't think so." She turned to the new arrival. "Grant, take them to that outbuilding we saw on our way here." She crossed her arms and stared at Tremain. "Maybe, after you have time to think about it, you'll change your mind." She took a few steps toward Christopher. "If not, I would hate if something were to happen to your sweet, young nephew." She touched his face. Christopher flinched. "Such a handsome young man, isn't he?" She turned back to Tremain. "It would be such a tragedy."

  Tremain, shocked to speechlessness, just stared at her, his eyes hard. Grant raised a huge hand and took Tremain by the arm. Christopher, not wanting to be dragged, followed quickly. Aziza watched as they were led back into the canopy of trees, then turned to the dumbfounded professor.

  "Now, Hollis, lets talk about our expedition, shall we?"

  Chapter 6

  The outbuilding turned out to be a stone tower, similar in construction to what they'd already seen, with stairs leading along the outside of the tower into the upper branches of the trees. Tremain and Christopher remained silent as they were marched.

  The man prodded them up the stairway, which was made of larger stones that extended from the outer wall of the structure just enough to have room to walk single file. They climbed until they reached a doorway, just above the tree-line. The sunlight filtering through the thinning foliage blinded them as it reflected off the stones. Some branches had grown right over the wooden roof, cloaking the entire tower in foliage. Tremain opened the door, feeling the wood as he did so.

  "This wood has been oiled. It's almost perfectly preserved," he muttered to himself as he entered. He took two steps in, stopped, then walked to the wall just to the left of the doorway. Christopher came right behind, blinking, followed by Grant, who closed the door and stood, arms crossed, barring any chance of exit.

  "What is this place?" Christopher asked, still blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior.

  "If we could just open one of these windows," Tremain muttered as he motioned to the array of shuttered openings in the stone wall around the perimeter of the room. Grant shook his head, which could barely be seen by the meager sunlight leaking through the cracks between the doorway and its frame.

  "The missus said bring you here. Nothing else." He resumed staring straight ahead.

  Tremain shook his head.

  "No big thinking for you, I see. Well, my intelligence-challenged friend, I'll just make the best of it."

  Christopher's eyes had adjusted enough that he could finally make out more detail in the room.

  Dust motes, disturbed by their entering, floated in the thin rays of sunlight from the doorway and the shuttered windows. The room was musty, like it hadn't been used in a very long time. It was definitely cluttered with various common items. Ropes, buckets and what looked like broomsticks were scattered over the floor. Wooden shelving was built into the wall and each shelf was full. Tremain made his way around the room, touching each object he could reach, muttering as he did so. Christopher stood still, waiting for his eyes to fully adjust. He didn't want to trip again. He watched his uncle as he examined the room.

  "Uncle, who is that woman, how do you know her?" Christopher asked.

  Tremain looked down.

  "Not my finest moment, I can tell you." He blinked as the disturbed dust swirled around him. "We knew each other in college. We were . . . an item."

  "A what?" Christopher prodded.

  "Yes, well, we . . . dated for quite a while. I was smitten. I was working on my thesis and she, along with some others, were my closest friends. They all helped with the research, guided by me, of course. Aziza was so full of promise. She was one of the brightest, but she had one flaw; she had no patience." He shook his head as he replaced another item on a shelf, twisting it firmly into place. "She didn't want to wait for anything. She wanted results right away. Whatever she wanted, she got.

  Eventually, she stole one of my project notebooks and tried to present the entire thing as her own." He fell silent, thinking about the moment. "I snuck into the hall where she was giving the presentation. Oh, she was familiar enough with the material that she gave a convincing argument. At least to the board. But she wasn't familiar enough." he paused.

  "I fed a question to the judging panel and watched as she froze. It would have been simple enough to answer had she done the work herself. She was leafing through the notes in front of her, frantically looking for her salvation. I shouted out the page the answer was on." He looked at the floor, tapping his temple. "My almost photographic memory, you know. I was so angry with her. She knew she was caught. I had totally humiliated her." He looked up at Christopher, his eyes full of regret. "She was expelled immediately and I never saw her again. Until today, that is." They were silent for a moment.

  Tremain moved away and resumed looking around the room with keen interest. As Christopher followed his uncle with his gaze, he realized his eyes had finally adjusted to the dark interior.

  "You know, Christopher, I think this was a storeroom." He walked back to the first shelf and lifted a metallic platter, turning it in his hands. "They obviously learned metallurgy." He replaced it, turning it slightly to fit it snug on the shelf. He moved on. "I wonder why they put this storeroom in a tower?" He examined a metal pitcher, dumping out some accumulated dust that had settled inside. "Fascinating, isn't it? A glimpse into the past." He replaced the pitcher and moved more assuredly through the room, keeping up a running commentary, picking up an item, examining then replacing it. He finally stopped when he made almost a full circuit of the room. There was a window just to his left. "I have to insist, we really could use more light. Like this!"

  Quickly grabbing the shutter, he pulled it open, the hinges squeaking in protest. Bright sunlight flooded the room, reflecting and ricocheting off each shiny object Tremain had touched, finally hitting the goon squarely in the eyes. Grant gave a startled grunt of annoyance and stumbled into the room, shading his eyes and moving towards the window. As he reached the center of the room, there was a loud cracking sound. Tremain hugged the wall, Christopher aping his uncle as the floor gave way underneath the thug.

  With a cry of surprise, he fell through the crumbling wood, his feet tangling in some ropes, dragging them down with him. Tremain bent over to look deeper in the hole as Grant's cry echoed. They heard a faint splash.

  "Never leave a genius in a cluttered room!" He yelled into the hole. Nodding, he wiped his hands together and turned to Christopher. "Now then, let's get away from here."

  "How did you . . . ?"

  Christopher could only stare in amazement at his uncle. Tremain waved a hand.

  "Simple, really. The door was treated with some sort of preservative, but I could tell right off that the floor was not. When we walked in here, I could tell by the sound that there was an empty space below this floor and it creaked and cracked as we entered. As our friend grant outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds or so, it wasn't safe for him to stomp around, now was it? The rest is simple physics, Christopher. Although, I can attest to offering a quick prayer to Lady Luck. Now,” he pulled his tablet from his pocket and handed it to Christopher. "I want you to use this to get back to the lab. Get hold of Senator Marcus and tell him everything. He knows all about Aziza. He'll bring the troops!"

  Christopher hesitated. "Wait, what are you going to do, Uncle?"

  "I'm going to give Aziza exactly what she wants. If she wants to find this thing the Mayflower people made, I'll make sur
e she finds it. But now I need you to go. Get help." He ushered Christopher to the door.

  Christopher pushed the icon on the tablet, and disappeared in the shimmering light. Tremain gave a sigh of relief that his nephew was safe, then made for the door. "Right. Now to stall for time."

  Chapter 7

  Christopher's view changed in an instant from the dark, dusty gloom of the storage tower, to the bright, shining interior of the lab. He blinked hard in the light, putting the tablet in his pocket and stepped off the platform. He almost ran into the intern, Leesa, who was carrying a load of recycling.

  "Watch it!" she yelled in surprise as he stumbled out.

  "Oh, sorry!" Christopher rubbed his eyes and looked around.

  Leesa squinted at him

  "Weren't you with Tremain?" She asked.

  "Yes -- but he's in trouble. I need to get help."

  She set her bundle down, concern in her eyes.

  "What happened?"

  "There's this woman, Aziza, she and my uncle know each other from way back. She's basically hijacked the expedition. I need to call Senator Marcus . . ." He turned to run to the lab door, but she grabbed his arm, reaching into her lab coat pocket with the other hand. Her eyes were hard.

  "Let me help you," she said. He smiled his thanks as she reached her other arm around, spraying something in his face. The world went all swirly as he collapsed.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  He woke up disoriented and slumped in a chair in a dark warehouse. His lower legs were free, but his chest and upper arms were securely tied with a thick rope. Dripping water echoed in the stillness. He had no idea where he was, how he came to be here or how long he had been out. He remembered the storage tower, transmitting to the lab . . . Leesa!

  He came to full attention, sat up straight and looked around as he struggled with his bonds. In the dim light he could see he was tucked between two racks of shelving. There was nothing on the shelves and from this vantage he could see neither doors nor windows. He kept trying different angles, tugging left then right, but couldn't work his arms free. In all the movement, though, he felt something shift in his pocket.